Riot On, Brother

We are now in that time of the year the humans refer to as August. It's that season of hot weather, thunderstorms, shortening daylight and overheated tempers. 'Tis the season of the Riot, people. This year, it's come a bit earlier than previously; however, on considering that Spring came sooner this year, forcing flowers and birds into correspondingly early activity, I'm not altogether surprised.

Of course, we've already witnessed unscheduled riots earlier this year, carefully designed and meticulously executed by the Redistributionist Workers' Faction (who don't actually work, but conscientiously draw Northumbrian State benefits to subsidise their mushroom chewing and ale and mead-swilling habits). They were willingly assisted by a host of starry-eyed youths whose intelligence was somewhat depleted, and whose outlook would best be described as akin to tunnel vision. These impromptu assemblies of planned random carnage and destruction were purportedly a response of the downtrodden (ie hard done to Redistributionist) proletariat to the Terrible and Gratuitously Savage Spending Cuts by the Utterly Depraved Trees, as well as the Savage Increase In Nursery Fees. That's the official interpretation. However in reality, the underlying rationale for such activity is quite different - and significantly more sinister. It's the outworking of an agenda that revels in destruction for its own sake, and takes any opportunity to lash out at The Costumed Thugs and the Righteous Governance they loyally represent. Stores are usually looted, buildings and carts set alight, and an orgy of mindless imbecility ensues. Several days or weeks later, certain well-spoken and well-dressed young individuals appear solemn-faced in the Moot to answer for their misdemeanours. The impromptu riot planners are conspicuously absent from the proceedings.

This weekend has been little different in that respect, although most of the protagonists this time have been various Vikings and an assortment other barbarian groups, whose sole desire is to live peaceably, trading and chewing magic mushrooms, and carrying out their irrational turf wars of bloodshed and violence without unwelcome interference from the Authorities from Outside. Respect, innit.

The Costumed Thugs have carried out their costumed thuggery - which is what they're trained and paid for; the rioters have got drunk, let off steam, plundered stores, wielded flaming torches and whispered sweet nothings into the ready ears of the aforementioned Uniformed Constabulary. It all would be very theatrical if it weren't for the number of injuries and the damage to homes and loss to local traders.

In their pious and characteristically unprincipled way, Guardy-Ann and her Redistributionist intelligentsia friends have been ambivalent. After all - it's Caedmeron's fault for inflicting upon the Northumbrian Kingdom a death by a thousand cuts. They conveniently forget that there were similar outpourings of mindless imbecility on the streets during the incumbencies of Tondvig the Blur and laugh-a-minute Guffmund the Brown - those bastions of Redistributionist illusion-mongery. They also seem to (deliberately) forget that the seeds giving rise to such resentment were sown years before Dagmar Caedmeron took the hot seat.. Selective memory is a wonderful thing.

It looks like it's going to be a long month..